


Fuck Pigeons.

by alizziema



Series: The Avengers are dorks and I refuse to believe otherwise [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Curious New York, Gen, Mentions of Anxiety, Panicked Peter Parker, Parker Luck, Peter Parker Hates Pigeons, Peter Parker has bad luck, Peter Parker-centric, Peter just wants his mask back, Peter loses his mask, Pigeons are little shits, Poor Peter Parker, extremely minor anxiety attack, he just has really bad luck, he really should’ve gotten those lessons from clint, small mentions of sensory overload, thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 14:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizziema/pseuds/alizziema
Summary: Peter was screwed. He lost his mask, the one thing preventing the world from knowing his identity. Mr. Stark was going tokillhim when he found out. And not only that, Karen was linked to his mask, so he also lost his greatest form of protection and his greatest asset in battle. If he didn’t find his mask soon, he was going to be in alotof trouble.Letting out a frustrated sigh, Peter turned around, quickly glancing over the alley to make sure his mask wasn’t there. Not that there was much to look at, of course, there was just dirt, a few fliers hanging from the railings on the side of the building to his right, and a pigeon in front of him holding a piece of red cloth in its beak—wait.Halting his movements, Peter looked more closely at the cloth in the pigeon’s beak, praying that it wasn’t what he thought it was.Motherfucker.The pigeon stole his mask.





	Fuck Pigeons.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course it takes me a day to realize I never added notes or a summary.
> 
> I apologize for my idiocy.

Peter hated pigeons.

Well, hate was a strong word. He generally disliked them.

It wasn’t like he wished they didn’t exist or anything, he just wished they weren’t so keen to be involved in human affairs. It seemed like every time he was in he middle of something a pigeon would just swoop in and try to do its best to mess it up.

For example, a month ago, a pigeon decided to fly into his room and scratch up his favorite blanket. And yes, it was a Spiderman blanket, but those things were a lot fluffier and more comfortable than regular blankets so could you blame him?

(“N-No...my blanket!!”)

Two weeks ago a pigeon flew onto the table he and May were sitting at while eating outside and knocked his dinner onto his lap.

(“...you’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously?!?”)

A week and a half ago a pigeon flew past him while he was fighting off a few thieves, they were truly starting to piss him off too so he was already agitated, and decided to shit on his head.

(“Oh, come on! Fuck you too pigeon, you piece of shit! No, Karen, do _not_ save that!”)

Last week a pigeon landed in front of him and pecked at his leg, causing him to fall and face plant in front of a guy an alley.

(“...godDAMNIT!!”)

A few days ago, a pigeon decided to fly in and steal the final bite of his sandwich while he was eating on a roof during his patrol.

(“ _My sandwich!!!_ ”)

So, his strong dislike for the creatures did not have no reasoning behind it. Those things seemed to be out to get him, and he didn’t even know what he did to piss them off. (They seemed to know exactly how to piss him off though.)

The “pigeon attacks” as he dubbed them didn’t happen too often to be intolerable, so he generally didn’t think it was a huge issue. It pissed him off for a little bit, but it didn’t ruin his entire day.

But today?

Today was the last straw.

The day itself was average. School was mildly aggravating, Flash was being a dick, as per usual, and MJ and Ned were still the best friends he could ever ask for. His patrol wasn’t too eventful—just the usual store robbers and purse thieves—and Karen was continuing to be his knight in shining armor. The only thing that didn’t apply to the norm was May texting him that she wouldn’t be home for dinner because she had to work a late shift, but even then that wasn’t unheard of.

So, later that afternoon, Peter found himself sitting on a rooftop and dangling his legs off the edge in his suit while eating a sandwich from Delmar’s. It was a more quiet area of the city (well, as quiet as it can get), so there’s wasn’t as many people roaming around as he was used to. He purposely picked an area that wasn’t heavily populated though, not only to get some peace and quiet, but to be able to take off his mask. Since it was May (the month, not the person) the weather was starting to heat up quite a bit, and doing vigilante work kicked up a sweat to begin with. (He wasn’t going to willingly succumb himself to weeks of acne. What do you think he is, crazy?) The mask unfortunately wasn’t connected to the AC system in the rest of the suit—he was going to have to talk to Mr. Stark about that—and he had to let his face breathe somehow. Plus, as gross as it sounds, the sweat was starting to build up and get into his eyes. Sweat _stings_.

But of course, as Parker luck entailed, that one decision ended up causing his demise.

Peter didn’t think too much of the pigeon on the rooftop next to him. He noticed it, of course, but he didn’t acknowledge it. It was just doing its own thing, pecking at rocks to see if it was food, flapping its wings seemingly out of nowhere for no purpose whatsoever—y’know, usual dumb pigeon things. He didn’t even bother to pay any mind to it when it flew over onto his roof. It wasn’t doing anything important on the other roof, it’s not smart enough to consider Peter a threat, and his sandwich was in his hand so it was fully guarded. He finished his sandwich not too long after the pigeon landed on the roof anyways, so there wasn’t any food left to steal. There was absolutely no way this pigeon could possibly ruin his day.

Inhaling softly, Peter brought his hands up above his head and stretched, releasing tension built up by a few hours of crime-fighting. He lingered in the stretch for a few moments before bringing his arms back to his sides with a sigh. Glancing up at the sky, Peter noticed the sun was starting to dip behind some of the shorter skyscrapers in the city. The evening was steadily approaching, and that meant May’s shift was ending soon. He would have to end his afternoon patrol early. 

Leaning back, Peter reached for his mask and asked, “Karen, what time is it?” 

Silence.

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, Peter picked up the mask and—

There was nothing in his hands. 

Pulse racing, he whirled around to scour the rooftop for his mask, but frantic eyes met nothing but gray. Peter quickly stood on his feet and continued to search, peering over the edges of the building to see if it had fallen down. 

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered softly to himself with wide eyes, threading his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture. He was so far from Queens—there was no way he was going to be able to get home without being seen. He _needed_ his mask.

Circling around the building’s roof a second time, Peter spotted a small dot of red in a dumpster in the alley below him. Heart jumping in his chest, he quickly jumped to the side of the building next to him and crawled down into the alley. Hopping down and landing next to he dumpster, he quickly searched through it for his mask. Spotting the red object, he surged for it with a strong burst of adrenaline and—

A Coke can.

It was an empty can of Coke.

Peter stared at it for a few moments, heartbroken and slack-jawed in awe. The shock didn’t last long, however, and neither did the Coke can. Crumpling it in his hand, he threw it back into the dumpster in a small fit of rage. 

Peter was screwed. He lost his mask, the one thing preventing the world from knowing his identity. Mr. Stark was going to _kill_ him when he found out. And not only that, Karen was linked to his mask, so he also lost his greatest form of protection and his greatest asset in battle. If he didn’t find his mask soon, he was going to be in a _lot_ of trouble.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Peter turned around, quickly glancing over the alley to make sure his mask wasn’t there. Not that there was much to look at, of course, there was just dirt, a few fliers hanging from the railings on the side of the building to his right, and a pigeon in front of him holding a piece of red cloth in its beak—wait.

Halting his movements, Peter looked more closely at the cloth in the pigeon’s beak, praying that it wasn’t what he thought it was.

_Motherfucker._

The pigeon stole his mask.

Staring at the pigeon, Peter weighed his options. Moving too quickly would probably scare the pigeon off, but waiting too long could lead to it flying off before he could do anything. He couldn’t quite figure out what a moderate speed would be either, so he mentally set aside that option. Both of his approaches had possible negative side effects, and he couldn’t afford any chance of the pigeon flying off. If the pigeon left, he would be forced to chase after it and swing around the city without his mask, and there were people _everywhere_ so he couldn’t exactly hide. And with his recent spike in popularity after the Vulture incident, people had started really crack down on the case of his identity. People constantly had their phones out whenever he was spotted on the streets, and they kept prying for details about himself. (They even found him once when he was about to change out of his suit. Talk about _creepy_.)

Standing and waiting in the alley didn’t exactly do too much to help him either, as Peter soon realized, because even though this area wasn’t heavily populated, it was still populated, and people could walk in on him and the pigeon at any moment. He had to do something soon, but he didn’t know what.

Maybe he could crawl up the wall and catch the pigeon from above? Pigeons can’t really see above them so it shouldn’t be expecting him as long as he isn’t making too much noise. It shouldn’t take too long either, so the pigeon won’t fly away while he’s trying to go after it. Climbing on walls always felt more natural too, so he should be able to execute it better. _Yeah_ , Peter settled with a smile, _that’s the way to go_. 

Taking a step towards the wall, Peter felt the hairs on his arm lift up from a sudden chill that had run down his spine. His spidey senses were going off. Quickly turning around, Peter scanned the area, looking for—

_SMACK!_

Peter’s vision was suddenly obstructed by a sudden darkness and he instinctively stepped back, hitting the wall behind him. Not even a moment later, the object covering his face was lifted, and he was greeted with the sight of the pigeon flying from his head up into the air and out of sight. 

Freezing up completely in shock, he stared dumbly at the last spot he saw the flying piece of vermin that stole his mask.

“You _son of a bitch_!!”

Jumping up, Peter scrambled up the wall and onto the roof of the building he was on just a few moments before. Looking around, he quickly found the pigeon flying in the distance toward some of the taller skyscrapers in the distance. Without thinking, Peter shot a web at one of the buildings across the street and started to swing in the direction of the flying creature.

Trying to find the pigeon was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, except every piece of hay was an entire building. It was _horrible_. Normally Peter would’ve asked some pedestrians for any sightings of the creature, but he obviously couldn’t do that now. (And he was afraid to stop moving. That pigeon was unnaturally fast.) After setting off to find the pigeon, he thought keeping it in his sight would be simple. Just head in the same direction it was flying, and it would be found sooner or later, right? 

Peter had been swinging for nearly thirty minutes, and somehow he was still clinging onto that hope. A part of him wanted to stop for a moment and start exploring a different direction just in case it decided to turn at some point in time, but he had a small hunch that it didn’t (It didn’t seem smart enough to. I mean, _look_ at it. Look at its eyes. Does that look like the face of an intellectual to you?). So, even though he was beginning to get a little tired, Peter kept methodically swinging in that direction, the buildings and lights around him now becoming nothing more than a blur. 

As it turned out, his hunch was correct.

Just as Peter was about to shoot a web at yet another building—a pretty large one too, almost as tall as the ex-Avengers tower—a small flash of red fluttered across his peripherals. A small bit of hope lit in his chest, and the sudden rush of adrenaline that came with it almost caused him to forget to shoot his next web before he fell. Peter swiftly twisted around in the direction of the color and shot a web at a small building in front of him. Landing on the roof, his eyes fell upon a small bird walking along the edge of a roof across the street—a restaurant by the looks of it—and in its mouth was a small piece of red fabric. His mask. 

Smiling almost inhumanly wide and momentarily forgetting about the life around him, he swung towards the pigeon with a battle cry.

“I’ve got you now, asshole!” Peter shouted as he landed on the edge of the roof, and lunged for the pigeon. The pigeon’s eyes widened almost comically in shock (He didn’t even know that was _possible_ ), and it quickly out of the way, leaving Peter to come face to face with the asphalt roof of the restaurant. He landed with a small _oof!_ and laid there for a moment, processing what had just happened. A beat passed.

Mind rebooting, Peter quickly stood up, face burning with embarrassment, and quickly swung off, momentarily forgetting about the pigeon’s whereabouts. _The internet’s gonna love that one_ , he grimaced as he landed on a nearby rooftop. Scanning the rooftops in front of him, he was pleased to find that the pigeon hadn’t move too far from its original position on the roof. It was only a few feet to the side, now pecking at the eyes of his mask. He winced a little noticing the small scratches and dents tainting the white of the eyes. 

“Alright,” Peter muttered softly to himself, crouching down and narrowing his eyes, “no more playing games. This little shit is going to get what it deserves.” 

Leaning forwards slightly, he placed the balls of his feet on the roof, positioning himself in line with the pigeon. 

“You’ve messed with me for the last time pigeon,” he whispered softly. “Now it’s time for my revenge.” 

Not missing a beat, Peter darted forwards and shot a web at the edge of the restaurant’s roof, tugging it towards himself to propel him forwards and quicker his speed. Landing safely on the rooftop, he lunged for his mask once more, this time making sure to keep himself planted on the ground. Almost as soon as he started reaching for the mask, the pigeon’s head quickly snapped towards him and it started to fly away from him, wings flapping loudly from the sudden shock. However, Peter was prepared, and he quickly shot a web at the pigeon as soon as it started to fly off. The pigeon dodged the web, albeit narrowly, but Peter wasn’t expecting to hit it on the first try regardless. Since the pigeon was such a small target it made sense that he would need time to get a feel for how to aim—he should be good to go after three or four shots.

Eight strands of web later, he’s not so sure.

The pigeon was starting to fly further into the distance at this point, not so far that it was out of range of his webs, but far enough to be extremely difficult to hit. (He suddenly wished he agreed to taking those lessons with Clint.) Biting his lip, Peter aimed and shot a web at a building across the road and jumped off the roof, shooting another web at another building to pull himself forwards. Quickly swinging through the streets, he occasionally stole quick glances up at the pigeon to keep a close eye on the little bastard holding his mask. 

By this time, Peter noticed his temper was starting to run thin. He had been chasing after the pigeon for almost an hour at this point, and where he was left him completely exposed to the public. Pigeons had messed with him before, sure, but never to this extent. To be honest, Peter wasn’t sure he ever remembered hating a creature more than he hated this pigeon now. He would be more than lucky if no one had managed to snap a picture of his face at this point. People were _everywhere_ , and he was now out in the open. (He wouldn’t be surprised if his face plant went viral, too.) Just the thought of his identity being revealed to the public made his heart drop into his stomach, but he knew he couldn’t lose focus now. He had to worry about getting his mask back. 

Trailing close behind the flying creature, Peter began to notice just exactly where he was heading. It was hard to identify at first, but as he began to move closer, he noticed a large stack of billboards playing various advertisements on loop, and on top of it laid a silver ball. Landing on top of a building, Peter stared at the iconic structure in front of him, a sudden realization slamming into him with what felt like as much force as a truck.

He was in Times Square.

The busiest section of New York

_Shit._

As realty began to slowly settle in, Peter felt the blood drain from his face. 

“This can’t be happening,” he muttered shakily, peering down fearfully at the crowds below him. There had to be at least a hundred thousand people on the streets, maybe more. And here he was, standing on top of a building, unmasked and in display for all of those people to see. Never more had Peter wanted to hide in his life. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to run away. _Forget about the mask_ , they said, _run away. Hide. Don’t let them know who you really are_. But Peter knew he couldn’t let himself do that. He had come too far to give up now. He needed to get back that mask, he just _had_ to. 

_Don’t be a coward._

A soft fluttering pulled him away from his thoughts, and Peter’s eyes immediately moved towards the sound. He recognized it, of course—how could he _not_ recognize it, he’d been chasing a creature that made that sound for the past hour. It was a sound that was hard to forget. Turning his head, Peter gazed upon his new, self-dubbed arch nemesis.

The pigeon.

It was seated on the edge of the rooftop next to him (as always—did it just like the edge of rooftops? What kind of suicidal pigeon was he dealing with here?) with the red cloth of his mask hanging out of its beak, staring blankly out at the horizon. The scene looked unnecessarily dramatic, in Peter’s opinion, but he couldn’t exactly do anything to change the position of the sun. Speaking of the sun’s position, it was getting pretty late. He was probably extremely close to his curfew, if not already past it. _May’s gonna kill me_ , he thought grimly, different scenarios spreading through his mind like wildfire.

“Oh my god, it’s _Spider-Man_!!”

The shrill voice snapped him out of his thoughts (He seemed to be getting lost in thought a lot today. He _really_ needed to break that habit), and a sinking feeling steadily started to pool in his gut. Peter quickly turned his back to the crowd to hide his face, keeping a close eye on the pigeon in his peripherals. His breathing was short and quick from a panic that was steadily rising into his chest, clawing at it and making it difficult to breathe. The crowd below him was starting to get larger—he could tell by the voices that were starting to grow both in number and volume.

Peter was _terrified_.

Hell, if you asked him to name his worst fears, this would easily make the top three. 

Peter wasn’t an idiot. He knew he would have to reveal his identity eventually, especially with the popularity gained and his position with the Avengers. It hadn’t been announced to the public yet, but people were starting to heavily suspect Peter was a part of the team, or would be soon. He just didn’t want it to be something out of his control. He wanted it to be his choice—when he was ready. And he most definitely was _not_ ready.

“Oh my god, it really is Spider-Man...”

“Hey Spidey! Can you do a flip?”

“Spidey, oh my god, thank you _so much_ for everything...”

“Spider-Man, can you take a picture with me? My daughter would really appreciate it.”

“Spidey, strike a pose!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter noticed the pigeon slowly staring to release the piece of fabric from its mouth. He watched with wide eyes as the bird fully let it sit on the edge of the roof and slowly started to peck at it. This was it. This was his chance to get his mask back. Slowly, Peter began to shuffle towards the edge of the rooftop he was standing on. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed that—

“Holy _shit_ , he doesn’t have his mask on!”

Nevermind.

“Wait, really?!?”

“He doesn’t have it on...”

“Oh my god—Spidey, what’s your name?”

“Who are you? What do you look like?”

“Turn around, please! We want to know who’s been helping us!”

“Let us see your face, Spidey! Show us what you look like!”

God, he felt so _trapped_.

He didn’t blame the people, of course. They weren’t even saying anything rude, or mean, or particularly harsh. They just wanted to know who he was. It was an innocent curiosity, and Peter understood that. But they were just so _loud_. It felt like their voices had increased tenfold. He was barely able to hear anything else.

Normally, Peter would be able to handle the crowds that eventually built up if he lingered in a spot too long. His mask had been updated to include some soundproofing, to deafen him a little so his enhanced sense of hearing wasn’t unbearable. It really helped him out, and it was an addition Peter greatly appreciated. But it made him forget just how loud the world was without it. He had to get out there before his senses started to overload. The familiar ring in the back of his ears was already starting to appear.

Slowly shuffling further to the side, Peter tested lifting a foot off the edge. He maintained his balance quite easily, but shifting his head slightly to the left to get a better look at the gap, he quickly realized he wasn’t going to be able to stretch over it. He would have to jump, and that meant this needed to be done quickly. There was no way he was going to be able to make the jump by side-jumping—the gap was too big. He would need turn to his left and jump, but that also entailed revealing his side profile to the eager citizens below. Peter knew there was no way to prevent that considering the situation he was in, so he would just have to work fast. And working fast meant not being able to gain momentum for the jump. Running to the edge would cause too much exposure of his face. 

But Peter didn’t think it would be a problem. He could still jump and cling onto the edge, he would just have to make sure he grabbed onto his mask when he landed. It was a simple task. He could do this with no problem. 

Adjusting his position so he was in line with the pigeon and the mask, Peter took in a deep breath, bracing himself. _Alright Peter_ , he thought. _You can do this. Just be quick_.

Taking one one last shuddering breath, Peter quickly turned and jumped. Reaching out his hand as far as he could, he slammed it down hard on top of his mask, startling the pigeon and causing it to fly away. _Good riddance_ , he thought, before breaking into a wide smile. 

He’d done it. He’d gotten his mask back.

A wave of relief came over him, and he let out a small breath. Now all he had to do was lift himself up onto the roof and put his mask back on. Then he would be free to go home. It was all over, he realized with a smile. It was over.

At least he thought. Then his hand slowly started to slip off the edge of the building. 

Heart skipping a beat, Peter’s eyes widened with a shuddering thought.

He couldn’t stick to his mask.

It was an upgrade Mr. Stark had made to the suit after Peter complained about accidentally sticking his hand to his arm during a patrol. He was able to quickly get it off, and reassured Mr. Stark of that as soon as he mentioned the upgrade, but his mentor insisted on it, saying that even a small hindrance like that could cause him to fall off his guard, and be fatally injured. He ended up taking the suit, and a day later Peter’s suit was now made of a material that repelled his ability to stick to things from the outside. It did still allow him to stick to things other than the suit, and it bothered him that he couldn’t figure out how Mr. Stark had done it. The upgrade itself was fairly recent, so dealing with the new fabric hadn’t become a habit yet. 

And that meant he was going to fall.

Or, well—now he was falling.

Clenching his fist tightly around the mask, Peter slipped off of the wall with a yelp, and quickly plummeted down into the small alleyway. He held the mask tightly to his chest, a part of him still afraid that he would lose it. The sight wasn’t exactly manly, Peter admitted to himself, but in his defense, he wasn’t thinking straight. His mind was still glued to the regaining mask. Plummeting quickly to the ground, he reopened his eyes (he didn’t ever recall closing them. Weird.) slightly to try to brace himself at the last second for whatever he was going to hit. Of course, he was too late. All he saw was a black square before slamming into whatever object it was.

And for the second time that day, Peter face planted.

It didn’t take him long to identify what he had fallen into because of the putrid smell emitting from it. How could he, when they were everywhere? Scrunching up his face, he moved one of his hands through the objects around him (He didn’t even want to _think_ about what it was) to plug his nose.

He’d fallen into a dumpster.

Groaning, Peter slowly rolled over into his back, coughing as fumes erupted around him when he pulled his fingers away from his nose. He slowly lifted his mask up to his face with and slipped it on half-heartedly, suddenly feeling drained. And as he laid there in silence, Peter was only able to muster the mental strength to process two words.

 _Fuck pigeons_.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, that’s that! Hope y’all enjoyed it haha
> 
> And for all those waiting for the sequel to the chatfic, chapter one is being written as we speak~
> 
> Comment any suggestions for anything you’d wanna see me write in the future! I’m open to anything :)


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